‘Not at all. He had his problems, but he always came back to Gertrude. He would never have taken advantage of her.’
‘Was there someone else?’
‘Some years later there was an issue.’
‘What kind of issue? Why did Solomon leave and take up with another woman in Fulham?’
‘It’s best if you talk to Gertrude on this one. Otherwise, I’ll need her permission to tell you.’
‘I could make it official.’
‘It doesn’t need that. Give me a day or so to clear the way. In the meantime, look after Gertrude. She has had a rough time over the years.’
***
Garry Solomon’s body was still with the forensic pathologist. Apart from a desiccated shell, some hair and the tattoo, there were no other identifying marks. Isaac checked to ensure that the body would be available, to ensure there was some clothing, and that an attempt would be made to make the corpse’s face acceptable to view. They stated that it would be impossible, and the best they could do would be to ensure a darkened room, and a veil covering the face. He ran it past Wendy, who spoke to the mother.
Two days after the mother’s request, both Wendy and Gertrude Richardson found themselves outside the address where the body was stored. It was the first time outside the mansion in Richmond for five years for the old woman.
‘Are you sure?’ Wendy asked.
‘I’m sure.’
They entered the building, met a well-mannered laboratory assistant who escorted them to the viewing area. The corpse rested in a coffin which the laboratory had secured for the viewing; the lid was open. The mother approached the casket timidly and looked in. She slowly pulled the veil from the face to look at her son. It was not a pleasant sight. Wendy approached and looked in as well; it upset her greatly. She saw what looked to be an Egyptian mummy. Gertrude Richardson could only see a son; her mind drifted back to him as a child, then a boy, then an adult of nineteen, which was the last time she had seen him alive. He had died at the age of thirty-six. If he had lived, he would have been in his late sixties, drawing his pension, presenting her with grandchildren. She was very sad, although she did not show it.
‘Thank you,’ she said to Wendy. ‘I always wanted to see him again, if only for a minute. I am exhausted. Would you please take me home.’
Wendy drove her home, put her in a bed upstairs, promising to feed the cats. She then went downstairs to make the old woman a cup of tea, and prepare some food for her. When Wendy returned twenty minutes later, the old lady was lying on her back, her eyes wide open, her mouth slightly ajar. She was dead.
***
‘You did well, Wendy,’ Isaac said on her return to the office several hours later. As sad as it was, Gertrude Richardson had died of natural causes. There would be an autopsy, as she was an integral person in a murder investigation, but Wendy saw it as a formality. The woman, old and frail, had held on to see her son. She had died soon after as a result. Wendy had stayed at the mansion until the body had been removed. She then phoned the Battersea Dogs and Cats Home to come and take care of the cats. She counted twenty-three. Larry said he would take the one that kept sitting on his lap. Wendy decided on two that would provide company for her when she got home at night. The rest she surmised would be adopted out, more likely euthanised.
‘It doesn’t feel that way at the moment, sir,’ she said.
‘It will in time. Are you free to talk about the case?’
‘It will help to take my mind off what happened. No wonder she died after what she saw in that casket.’
‘You said she was used to dead bodies.’
‘She never explained why. It was her son she was looking at, but she stood there showing no emotion.’
‘Her lawyer said she concealed her feelings well, never knew what she was thinking. Mavis, he said, was the opposite.’
‘Where’s DI Hill?’
‘He went out to inform Mavis Richardson. Apparently, the woman became quite emotional. Larry’s still there.’
‘Maybe I should go there as well, sir.’
‘Not necessary. Larry took her to a formal identification of her sister. He will be here within the next hour.’
Bridget, sensing that Wendy was grieving, took her under her wing. She settled her down on a comfortable chair and gave her a strong brew of tea and a couple of chocolate biscuits, as well as some cake she had brought from home. Ten minutes later, Wendy was much better.
‘She identified the body,’ DI Hill said on his return to the station.
‘Where is she now?’
‘Back at her house. Her lawyer is with her.’
‘We should go out there,’ Isaac said to Larry.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I’ll go as well,’ Wendy said.
‘Go home and take it easy for the rest of the day,’ Isaac said.
‘She’s coming home with me,’ Bridget said. ‘I don’t think she wants to be on her own tonight.’ Wendy thanked her.
It took forty-five minutes to make the trip out to Mavis Richardson’s house. Larry reflected that it would only have taken twelve on the train. Isaac could only agree.
They saw Montague Grenfell’s car in the driveway of the house on their arrival, a late model Mercedes. They knocked at the door.
‘Come in,’ Montague Grenfell said. ‘Miss Richardson is composing herself. She will be down in a minute.’ Isaac reflected that the man seemed at home in the house.
The woman joined them soon after. She was relaxed and agreeable, although there were signs of crying around her eyes.
‘I’m sorry about your loss,’ Isaac said.
‘Thank you, DCI Cook. We didn’t
